Blame it on the Boots
by Geale
Summary: 'Tis the season to be… divorced, drunk and depressed. No, wait. That was Halloween. Now it's Christmas and Draco is taken by surprise. Draco/Bill SLASH
1. Part One

**Summary:** 'Tis the season to be… divorced, drunk and depressed. No, wait. That was Halloween. Now it's Christmas…

**Pairing:** Draco/Bill

**Rating:** M

**Warnings:** SLASH and language.

**Disclaimer:** All of them belong to J.K. Rowling. I get the Nogtail's Nest. Lucky me.

**A/N:** This story was originally supposed to be a most humble response to reader Lizzy's review of another one of my Bill/Draco works in which she asked me for a story with Draco being the one to seduce Bill – and not the other way around which is my usual style. Well, Lizzy… If you are reading this… in my defence, I _tried_. Also, since the final word count exceeded 15500 when the story was finally finished I will post it in two parts with the second and final part appearing sometime tomorrow.

Merry Christmas!

**Part One**

**In which Harry is on a mission and Draco helps out. And there are completely unexpected consequences.**

_In consideration of the copious amount of talk that the episode caused it could have been regarded as a personal insult to the parties involved that the _affaire _only merited a small notice in the Society section of the _Evening Prophet_. It was almost enough for Draco to set down his wine, push back his chair, cross his kitchen floor to open the window and call for Remington and send him over to the Potters with an enraged message. Almost._

_It was not the fact that he dreaded crossing the floor (nobody on this Earth should be deprived of the pleasure to set foot on Draco's high polished mahogany kitchen floor) or even abandoning his wine for a moment (though this was a particularly fine vintage that old Slughorn had… well, that had come into the possession of old Slughorn who generously had allowed Draco to sample it). No, rather it was the fact that Draco did not much care to _Accio_ quill and parchment and actually compose the bloody letter. It was Tuesday and it was his night off._

_Draco did not do drama on Tuesdays._

_More specifically, Draco did not do Potters or Weasleys or owls or howlers or singularly extraordinary silly things like compassion and devotion or commitment on Tuesdays._

_So therefore it was that he topped up his glass of wine and turned the page of his newspaper._

**-OOO-**

"She spent the whole night crying, apparently." Harry gave a sort of lopsided, bleak grin that spoke more about his personal sentiments than his actual words did.

Even so Draco arched an eyebrow. "And that surprises you, somehow?"

"No, I guess not... Albus, let go of your brother!"

Further up the street James was shoving at Albus who was fervently reaching for the bright orange and purple paper bag his older brother held above his head to keep safe from harm. "Get off me! You heard dad!"

"But I want to see! Jami-ie!"

"Get off!"

People were looking. Draco plastered his Aw-but-are-they-not-sweet-the-bickering-little-children-remember-when-we-too-were-kids smile on his face and tried to breathe (through his nose, of course) through it.

Harry was several paces ahead (fine by Draco), hurrying to pry his sons apart. "Albus, leave your brother alone! Jamie, put that away if you're not eating it! Don't tease your brother."

"But I want to see! Daa-ad?!"

"I'm not showing you!"

"You pushed me!"

"Stop it!"

Draco slowed his steps and elegantly glided (he flattered himself) by a shop window. He needed new dress robes (he decided in that moment) and these looked suitably expensive. Wool, by the look of them. With that sleek finish that he appreciated so much in finer fabrics. He did not very often window shop in Diagon Alley these days and every other shop he walked by was new which was both pleasant and a little disturbing. It told him that he had better things to do than to spend his leisure time loitering about a shopping district and it told him he was getting older and losing his hold on the development of…

"Sod off!

"_James Sirius Potter!"_

Harry's hair was sticking out in every direction when Albus flung himself at him as James, red-faced and sheepish-looking, bravely squared his slim shoulders before his father's anger.

Even Draco had to admit that there was a certain level of attractiveness to Harry in moments such as this one (and they were innumerable). His jaw was sharper, his words were certainly sharper and his eyes flashed with that energy Draco almost missed from their teenage years. On the other hand, Draco was also quite aware of the simple fact that rage ought never be a turn on in any relationship, no matter how casual.

Not to mention the small detail that Harry was a married man.

Also as straight as his own wand.

Draco tugged at his collar against the crispy cool October air and steeled himself, and walked up the irrepressible Potters. It was very lucky for Harry that he had once saved the wizarding population of Britain because the way this portion of his little tribe was clogging the narrow street was not greatly approved of by any passers-by.

Jamie was sullen and quiet and refused to meet his father's eyes. Albus had streaks of tears painted on his face and he was holding his father's hand while glowering at his older brother.

"Are we going?" Draco asked. "I thought we were on a mission?"

"Yeah," Harry ran a hand through his hair. His green eyes were apologetic behind his spectacles. Spectacles which Draco had helped him pick out a couple of years back. Spectacles that were lightweight and modern and which framed his face much (much, much, much) better than his old ones had ever done thank you very much. "Come on, you two. We're going to meet up with your mum and then Draco and I will go and find your uncle."

Or, more likely, pry him off a counter and shove some fresh air down his lungs to counter the effect any alcohol was having on him, Draco was guessing, but he was tactful (he had evolved) enough to keep his mouth shut about that.

Ginny was waiting for them outside a new home decoration and interior design shop Draco had never seen before. Huge gap-toothed pumpkins were set on both sides of the stone steps leading up to the front door and silvery grey spider webs were artfully but hardly tastefully draped across a completely innocent and rather plain coffee table in the window.

"Well, hello Ginevra," Draco said as he kissed her cheek. "I could hardly tell the difference between you and the pumpkins."

"Draco," she smiled sweetly. "It is you, after all. I thought Harry had bought one of those life-sized Halloween Muggle costumes and compelled it to walk by itself."

Draco smoothed his palms down over the front of his coat. "It's a cashmere and wool blend."

Her brown eyes twinkled as she gestured at her cloak. "This, my dear, is just a blend."

Then Harry was there and Draco had to suffer through their kiss (which thankfully was one of their more modest ones) and listen to her upbraid her sons, post-fight.

The street was littered with flaming autumn leaves fallen from invisible trees. Above them, looking quite forlorn – and some of them not a little perturbed – handcrafted muted ghosts sailed aimlessly through the chilly breeze. Initially the ghosts had moaned and screeched the shoppers to deafness but on the third day the shopkeepers of Diagon Alley had had enough and made a collective stand against the Ministry's opinion of appropriate public Halloween decorations. The protests had been civil in the beginning – until somebody had captured a couple of said ghosts and sneaked them into the Ministry. After that, a harassed ministerial servant had come out to Diagon Alley to subdue the crowds and shut up the decorations.

Draco drew a deep autumny breath and prided himself on his own acceptance of Potters and Weasleys and their insanity. He allowed himself an inward smile. Imagine what a decade could do to a human being!

Well, Ginny had put on a few pounds but it was all in her favour, actually. She was a woman these days and not a girl anymore. Objectively speaking, she was quite pretty.

And Harry… Draco looked at Harry. There were fine lines around his eyes. Not many, but there they were. His voice had matured along with his skin. He was… Harry Potter was all grown up. It suited him, too.

Draco turned his eyes to his own reflection in the window but for once he had trouble judging his own appearance. He did look like a Muggle (a stylish Muggle to be sure, but a Muggle nonetheless). He could never decide how long his hair should be. If perhaps he should be a little daring in the morning and mess it up just slightly. Or if it was better simply slicked back.

He always put his socks on last. Unfailingly. Well, not after he put on his shoes or his coat or robes, but definitely after his shirt and trousers. Draco Malfoy was an expertly designed creature. Which was... impressive. If that sort of thing turned you on.

As of late it seemed that it didn't.

Turn anybody on.

"All right, we're off! I don't want to leave Lily with mum for too long. Not after… what happened."

Draco shook himself and cleared his throat. "Well," he made sure to drawl, "I was going to say that it can hardly be Mrs Weasley who is the victim in this bit of business."

Ginny shot her sons a glance and then grimaced. "You know mum, Draco. This hit her hard," she said in a low voice.

He shrugged. "That's life. Sometimes it hits you hard." He held up his hands in a defensive gesture. "But I won't argue."

Before she could answer that, Harry dropped his hands to his sons' shoulders and gave them a small squeeze. "OK, boys. You go with your mother and I'll see you later."

Draco waited for them to sort out the details of their Halloween shopping and this mission of intervention, respectively. He had never wanted children of his own and watching Harry with his offspring was more than enough to keep him on that track for years to come. But he could not deny that they made a likeable (in their own quaint little way) picture. Ginny smiling, with her perpetually flaming red hair, Harry only minimally unsure of himself – as if he somewhere deep down still did not entirely believe that this was all his – and Jamie and Albus, always fighting, eternally inseparable. And Draco was not so above everything and everyone these days that he refused to see this for what it really was: love.

"So," Harry sighed, as his wife and sons took off down the street. "You ready?"

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?"

"Because we're friends?"

"Ah, right."

The Halloween shoppers that swarmed the streets were laden with parcels and pumpkins. Draco and Harry wove through them in a growing, uneasy silence.

Too much drama.

"Why exactly is your wife afraid of leaving your daughter with your mother-in-law?"

Harry shook his head as they turned a corner. "Molly broke down when she heard the news. I guess Ginny is just worried that she won't be very attentive. And Lily isn't at the age when you sit down and colour garden gnomes."

"Harry," Draco said darkly. "None of your kids have ever been that age."

It drew a smile from him.

**-OOO-**

The door swung closed behind them as if it had preferred to not let them in in the first place. Draco had never before set foot in this obscure little pub and he could see why now. The Nogtail's Nest was gloomy and grimy, and largely empty. Which, he supposed, was a good thing since it was only afternoon and a large intake of alcohol that early in the day was only pathetic. A thin, greyed and hollow-eyed man behind the counter watched them suspiciously as they took a few steps forwards. Draco evaded the distrustful gaze as best he could.

"So where…"

"There."

Ah.

Their footsteps seemed to thunder like centaur hooves as they passed the bar and made for the dreary shadows in the far-away corner, Draco trailing after Harry, for once quite happy not to lead the way.

The figure at the table was so slumped in his chair that he could just as well have been a pile of rags. A near-empty bottle of Firewhisky adorned the otherwise unburdened table top. They came to stand beside it. No reaction.

They exchanged a glance during which Draco silently communicated to Harry that this certainly was not his mission and that he was only there as some form of moral support. Which was hilarious considering but never mind. Harry's glance shifted to a glare but Draco only bothered with a slight raise of his eyebrows.

Harry licked his lips. "Bill?"

Silence.

"Bill? It's me, Harry."

Draco decided that this was not the time for a snarky remark.

"Bill? Hey?" Harry took a step closer and laid a hand on his brother-in-law's shoulder. "Bill?"

It was like watching somebody forcing life into a puppet. A very reluctant puppet. A most likely very, very reluctant and exceptionally drunk puppet. Draco tried his best to not be seen by any of the other handful of patrons – which would have been much easier if he'd had Harry's Cloak. Or if he had not entered the pub on the heels of Harry Potter. Or had not himself been Draco Malfoy. As it was, he mostly prayed for invisibility but he suspected he was not very successful.

"Bloody hell, Bill. C'mon!" Harry gave Bill a gentle push.

"Wha th'fuck…" The pile of rags, allegedly a human being, finally stirred and Draco marked that as a victory. "Fuckoff…"

"No, Bill, I'm not _fucking off_," Harry sighed. "You, on the other hand, are getting up."

"I don't know if I've ever heard you say 'fuck' before," Draco mused in wonder.

"Shut it, Draco."

"OK. Excuse my input."

Harry rolled his eyes at him and Draco made sure Harry caught his smirk before he turned back to the man at the table.

"Come on, Bill. It's over. You're pissed as hell."

The thing called Bill groaned.

"Get up," Harry repeated. "Draco is barley handling this as it is so do us all a favour and come with me."

Then it happened.

Bill lifted his head.

And Draco felt it like a punch to his gut.

He was a complete mess. Bill Weasley looked as though he had not slept properly for six months, give or take. His hair was long and a complete tangle and there was just a dash of grey at his temples. His eyes were as unfocused as could be and his t-shirt looked torn at the collar and there were suspicious stains spattered on it in a band across his shoulder.

But oh. Fucking. Shit. Holy. Merlin. Bloody. Hell. That. Jaw.

Draco swallowed.

And those shoulders. Broad as fuck. And Bill might have been drinking away the colour in his cheeks and the light in his eyes but his muscles were certainly intact.

It was Draco's turn to lick his lips. While he stared at Bill's mouth.

It had been ages since they'd last met. (When was that?) Obviously.

And that scar. It stretched from Bill's hairline, down his temple, brushing the corner of his eye, past his cheekbone, ending in a gentle curve towards his mouth. It was safe to say that there was nothing cashmere about Bill but this was just as sexy.

So Draco did what he did best.

He grabbed the chair opposite Bill's, swivelled it out from under the table and promptly planted himself across from the werewolf.

"Cliché, Weasley," he drawled. "Your wife leaves you and you head for the nearest bar to hide in the darkest corner with a bottle of Firewhisky." He snorted. "Pathetic."

"Fuck you Mmfoy."

_Ohyesplease._

"No thank you." Draco smiled sweetly. "Not before you have bathed anyway."

Something in Bill's face twitched.

Harry made a noise. "Draco…"

But Draco gave him a _look._ "Come on Weasley. Harry is right. This really isn't my scene so the sooner we are out of here the better."

Bill growled. It was a low sound, coming from the back of his throat. His eyes, still dull, narrowed.

It would be lying to say that Draco did not feel a thrill speed through him, equal parts excitement and fear. Theoretically what he was doing was absolutely insane. He had never really bothered to ask anyone who knew Bill how much werewolf he actually had become after the Greyback incident. (Because for holy Merlin's sake since when did Draco Malfoy care about Bill Weasley!?) On another level, however, certain parts of Draco's body were eagerly insisting that he should keep up whatever the hell he was doing.

He leaned in a little. "Good to see you, William. It's been too long."

Harry shifted beside him. "Bill, mate, let's go. We'll go back to The Burrow, yeah?"

Bill's attention tore from Draco. Some energy seemed to awaken in him and he emitted a rumble that did nothing to suppress Draco's building interest. "Think I'm going home, Harry?" When he truly focused he sounded soberer and his voice became more growl than slur which certainly was impressive considering the amount of alcohol he had downed.

"To mum and dad, eh?" A ripple of something powerful ran through his bare arms (and they were _very_bare). "Don't you think I know she's crying like fuck?" He snorted a bitter laugh. "I disappointed her, Harry," he enunciated carefully. Suddenly he spread his hands with such force that his chair wobbled. "My wife left me!"

"I know," said Harry, quietly, as if to balance his outburst. He managed to look unmoved by the power amassing in Bill and that, too, was rather impressive, Draco was forced to admit. To himself. Never out loud. "But it'll be OK."

"It'll be OK," Bill repeated with derision. "The fuck it'll be OK."

"Maybe if you talk to Fleur…"

"Talk?!" he spat, and for the first time there was a flash in his glazed-over eyes. "She's gone. She's fucking gone."

"You've got a daughter together," said Harry, still quietly but more sternly this time. "You've got Victoire. Fleur can't be gone, she wouldn't leave her daughter."

At the mention of his child Bill seemed to soften. In fact, he seemed to shrink, to inflate, before Draco's eyes. "She hates me."

Harry frowned. "What?" He rubbed his hand over his chin. "Victoire doesn't hate you. You're her dad. She loves you."

"She will," mumbled Bill. Then, quieter, "When she learns of it."

When he reached for the bottle Draco laid a hand on his wrist. "No."

Bill's eyes flashed a second time. "Shut your gob, Malfoy."

Draco forbade himself to swallow. Instead, he sighed and shook his head. "Pathetic," he repeated.

He met Bill's gaze straight on. His insides threatened to squirm themselves inside-out but he held still. Bill's breathing was harsh and his breath stank of whisky but Draco endured. He could feel the tension crawling under the skin, under his palm, the warring emotions boiling in Bill's veins.

"Listen to Harry," Draco suggested gently. "Go home."

"I don't have a home, Malfoy, if you need to know," Bill hissed. "Does that please you?" His eyes were blue. Hideously bloodshot but definitely blue. Had not Draco always liked blue?

"No, surprised as you may be, William, that does not please me," said Draco, aiming for bored. Which was quite a feat in light of the fact that something liquid warm was licking its way up his spine simultaneously. "I don't know if you know – and I cannot even guess if you care – but Harry and I are friends these days and so I harbour a… reasonable amount of interest in his family's wellbeing."

Bill growled. "I find that bloody hard to believe." As if the bottle had suddenly burnt him, he pulled away his hand. "I'll do what I bloody well like."

"Enough with the drinking, at least." In a pleasantly decisive fashion, Harry snatched the bottle off the table and with a flick of his wand sent it flying back to the counter. It landed neatly, making only the most modest, muted _chink_ on the notched wood. The hollow-eyed innkeeper jumped but did not protest.

"The fuck, Harry!" Bill was on his feet quick as a pixie. Although there was nothing pixie-like about him. Which – it must be noted – was a positive thing in Draco's book. "Leave me _the fuck_alone!"

Draco read him the same way as did Harry but it was not for nothing that the latter was called the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Draco gave him that. He was quicker than anyone Draco had ever seen and a flick later, and a wave and a stab of his wand had Bill pressed up against the grubby wall as if invisible ropes bound him to it and his own wand was secure in Harry's grasp.

He even stood calm in the face of Bill's threatening snarl.

"Nonverbal magic, eh?" Draco mused. "Had it been any other bloke I would have considered it sexy."

Harry did not so much as deign him with a glance but Draco caught it: the tiny twist in the corner of his lips that made it obvious that he would have grinned – had he deemed the moment appropriate.

Bill made an attempt to lash out but Harry's wand stopped him.

"_Enough_," Harry proclaimed. "You're coming with me, Bill. You can have any of the spare rooms at Grimmauld Place if you don't want to go back to the cottage. Or The Burrow. Whatever."

Draco nodded in approval. "Definitely sexy. This taking-charge thing, I mean."

"Fuck off, Malfoy," Bill spat.

But Draco only clicked his tongue. "Language, Weasley. And if not, at least expand your vocabulary. You bore me." He gave the werewolf a drawn-out once-over. "But, since you keep bringing up the fucking, I will inform you that I'm not entirely averse to the idea."

"Draco…" Harry murmured in something that could have been a warning tone.

While Bill glowered at him Draco only smiled serenely and took a step back. "Fine. Can you handle the rest by yourself Harry? I think I've been supportive enough for one day."

Harry's gaze slid from Bill for a moment. "Yeah, thanks." He looked as though he meant it.

Draco gave him a quick smile. One of those he reserved purely for his old nemesis. "No problem."

It was a genuine smile. It said what Draco had never really put into actual words. He was not very keen on over-analysing but it had something to do with him liking Harry these days. Somewhere along the way when they had both grown up and their paths had crossed again at the Ministry and they had attended the same meetings and Merlin knew why they had got to talking but here they were, that was when that smile had been invented.

Because Draco liked Harry. And Harry liked Draco. It turned out.

Although not – making that very, very clear here – in _that_ way. Draco shuddered. Harry had no taste.

Draco gave the ragged, irate shape that was Bill Weasley a last look and felt a whoosh of something warm in his stomach.

Then again, he didn't seem to have any taste either, all of a sudden.

**-OOO-**

When the doorknocker announced that someone had come to see him, Draco briefly considered pretending that he was not at home. Granted, it was only Monday but he really was not in the mood. Of course, on second thought, it might be a reporter and Draco never turned an opportunity for publicity down.

And so it was that he opened his front door – after having made a thorough inspection of his appearance in the hallway mirror (gilded frame, early 19th century for your information) – and found Bill Weasley on his doorstep. Looking rather sober this time around and distinctly humbler.

Draco ran the tip of his tongue over the ridge of his teeth, trying to think of something fitting to say. Bill got there before him.

"I'd like to apologise, Malfoy," he announced gruffly.

He was wearing a leather jacket. That was almost enough to win him Draco's forgiveness in a heartbeat but that would be showing his hand too quickly.

"I see."

"Yeah." Bill's eyes were clear today and his hair was washed and pulled back in a ponytail. In the fading early evening light his skin was pale enough to highlight his scar. He wore faded jeans and a pair of reddish-black boots that possibly were, or were not, dragonhide and which he was more than welcome to walk up to Draco's door in a second time.

How old was he? Forty? The effect ought to have been ridiculous – a grown-up man dressing like a teenage Muggle rock star but it really was the opposite. To use a definition Bill himself might have understood: he looked perfectly – _perfectly –_fuckable.

"I was rude the other day." Bill licked his lips (thank you!). There was a tension in his jaw. "I'm sorry."

Draco nodded slowly. "I get it."

"No you don't."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

Bill sighed. His gaze fell to the granite stone steps. "You don't." When he looked up again there was something almost beseeching in his face. "I truly mean no offence, Malfoy, but you don't get it. Because you don't know."

Draco made a quick evaluation of the situation. "Would you like to come in, Weasley? And enlighten me?"

While Bill fought to make up his mind (he was a Weasley, Draco was a Malfoy and even werewolves were cautious in a dragon's lair, after all. On the other hand, given those boots, maybe this particular werewolf was a bit adventurous) Draco occupied himself with leaning against the doorframe. He was just about to push the matter a little further when Bill's shoulders – oh the shoulders! – dropped and he nodded. Once.

"Fine."

Draco smiled. He had no idea what was in that smile however because Bill looked all the more uneasy for it, but it did not matter.

"Well, by all means, then, William. Do come in."

Bill stepped across the threshold and Draco held his breath.

"Holy fucking hell, Malfoy!"

He exhaled, silently. "Out with it, Weasley. No point in subtleties."

Bill was already three strides ahead of him (which Draco did not mind in the least since that gave him a perfectly pleasant view of his arse.) "What the fuck's this place?" He spun to face Draco, eyes wide and adorned with a glimmer of complete shock. "Your own personal house of horrors?"

"If by any chance you are referring to the casket I can reassure you that it is empty and has been thoroughly examined and de-magic'd. As a matter of fact," Draco sauntered over to the casket, "the intendant at the Museum of Alexandria was expressively clear on the fact that the mummy who used to be confined to his eternal sleep in here ran off in direction of Heliopolis on a sunny Sunday morning over fifteen years ago."

He withdrew from the casket. "I do mean to find an ideal spot for it downstairs but the renovations are taking longer than I had hoped for."

"Downstairs?"

Draco gestured languidly at the centrepiece of the hallway, the grand, gently curving staircase in polished oak. Down the stairs," he clarified.

"And what's down there? Your mausoleum?"

"Currently, only water damaged wood, mortar and stone. Or whatever houses like these are built of. I don't know." Draco shrugged. "I'm not a…" he waved a hand dismissively, "… an expert."

But Bill was not looking at him. He was appraising the bloated, inelegant chest of drawers Draco had shoved alongside the wall. "What are these markings?"

Draco drifted over to stand beside him. If his guest found that to be disturbing he did not indicate it. "I don't know," he confessed. "I am waiting for someone to show up and take a look at them and tell me."

Bill's eyes met his and something tugged at the corner of his mouth. "An expert?"

Something in Draco's chest took a whooping dive for the depths of his stomach but he held that gaze. "Precisely."

If there was just a hint of a slightly breathy quality to Bill's voice it was only a compliment. "Thought you'd be living in a castle of diamonds and gold, Malfoy."

Draco allowed a slow smirk to crawl across his face. "Who says there are no diamonds, Weasley?" It was only four in the afternoon and this kind of flirtatious gambling he usually reserved for too-early morning hours, but for once he decided that maybe he could risk to come off as cheap. He lowered his voice a little. "You've only seen a fraction of what's on display, after all."

He was almost certain Bill swallowed but he was too busy maintaining eye contact to be completely sure. Then Bill turned his eyes away and took a step back. "You should have it checked for any magical residue."

Draco collected himself. "Thank you for the concern, Weasley, but I have already seen to that. Besides, I just might enjoy any lingering traces of curses and hexes. Work within the field of international representation can be quite dreary and dull."

Bill snorted. "Yeah, sure. Boring as hell to travel around the world shaking hands and seeing…" He floundered, in the end simply splaying his hands. "People. Sights. Whatever."

Biting his lower lip, Draco tried to assess his mood. "Bored, Weasley?" he asked, lightly, as if the answer really was of no interest to him.

His guest shot him a quick glance. It was a while before he answered. "I don't know." His jaw worked as his eyes raked over Draco, in some kind of estimation of his receptiveness. "Shouldn't be. Not after…" He dropped his gaze to the floor.

"Ah, yes. About that…" Draco inclined his head towards the doorway leading deeper into the house. "There is liquor, Weasley, if that makes you less taciturn."

Bill followed him into a drawing room that Draco to his dismay had discovered was dreadfully droughty, but the house-elves had been given strict orders and today there was a fire in the fireplace and the chill of early November was kept at bay fairly well.

"Do sit anywhere you like," Draco offered. "Except on that pouf over there. It appears that the leather contains some corrosive acid that I have not yet discovered how to extract."

If Bill thought him completely mad he did not say so. Instead he sank down on the yellow silk couch with the gold brocade Draco had been gifted in Paris and which now delicately covered up an ugly burn mark in the wooden floor. In his leather jacket and his boots – it _had_to be dragonhide – Bill looked so out of place against the brocade that Draco was tempted to throw out the couch. Or possibly suggest that Bill simply undress.

"The kids must love it," Bill suddenly ventured.

Taken by surprise, Draco blinked his fantasies away. "I'm sorry?"

An uncertainty had caught hold of the other man. It did not necessarily suit him. "When they come here. I _did_ know you're friends with Harry. These days."

Draco weighed his alternatives. He walked over to the small glass table by the window and ran a fingertip against a dusty bottle of sherry Slughorn had sent over for his judgement. Draco had not looked twice at it until now.

"Yes," he said, finally. "I have bestowed the grace of my friendship upon the Potters. And by association, you Weasleys." He opted for the Firewhisky instead. Bill did not seem like the sherry type. "Truth be told… I don't…" This was harder than expected. "I don't mind Harry. Or your sister, for that matter. Of course, the kids are a bumbling flock of undisciplined little urchins but I endure. Besides, it's not their fault Harry does not know how to keep them in line." He carried two tumblers over to the couch. "If they ever sit still all of them at the same time the work is Ginevra's and the praise should fall to her."

Bill accepted the tumbler with mild suspicion. Draco smiled. "It's not werewolf poison."

"I don't usually drink so much," Bill muttered, as Draco dropped down on the edge of a red velvet armchair with clumsily wrought iron claws as feet instead of the more customary gilded lion paws. "I mean, when you picked me up at the Nest the other night… I was in a pretty bad state."

"You don't say."

"I'd just… told Fleur. Or, she'd told me, rather," Bill continued as though he had not heard him. He lifted the tumbler to drink but stopped just before it happened. He sniffed the amber liquid. "This is good."

Draco sat back a little. "Scottish. Small distillery in the Highlands, near Aviemore. Not anywhere near that mordant brew you downed a bottle of at the Nogtail's Nest." He watched, secretly delighted, as Bill took an experimental sip of the Firewhisky and failed to hide his appreciation. "But you were saying…?"

"Oh, yeah…" The temporary boost of pleasure was wiped from Bill's face immediately. "Yeah… Well, Fleur and I decided it was for the best if we… separated."

"And why is that?"

Bill cradled the tumbler in his big hands. He sat hunched over, looking miserable. Which really was an absolute waste of such an extraordinarily attractive man. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

"Who cares?"

With a heavy sigh, Bill took another sip of the whisky. "Don't know."

"Fine with me." Draco stretched out his long legs before him.

"Fine." Bill's eyes narrowed. "Fine, Malfoy. I'll tell you. I'll tell you that I never once looked twice at a girl. Never. Never bothered. Never cared. Never was interested." His voice filled with contempt and the blue of his eyes darkened. "Didn't say a word, though. To anyone. The twins were too young to care, Ron only a kid. Percy… whatever. It was Charlie and I, y'know. Thick as thieves, as the Muggles say. He snogged a girl and boasted a week. I just didn't care. Wanted to get away. As soon as school was over I was done."

He unfolded his lean body, got to his feet and walked over to one of the high windows. "So I got this job at Gringotts and it sent me half a world away where I didn't have anyone but goblins to answer to and they don't care." He turned his back firmly on Draco and supposedly stared out the window at the overgrown lawn and the wistful junipers grouped together near the west wing of the house. "Well, they care about the Galleons and gold of course but not whom you… bed."

Draco was leaning forwards again, gaze intent on Bill. He kept his silence and stillness with some difficulty. The whisky – however exquisite – was leaving a burning trail down his throat just as the cheap stuff did. Not that Draco had any cheap stuff at home, mind you.

"Then things started to happen," Bill went on, and his voice grew strangled. "There were signs… Harry came to us. You all went to school. Things… Dark things were stirring so I came home. And then I met her."

Draco shifted his glass in his grasp.

"She was beautiful. And… she didn't care about the werewolf thing. Everybody else did but she just shrugged it off and told me I was just as… just as good as before. We figured it out together. To everyone else I was either damaged goods or bloody dangerous – or both – but not to her." He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. "I guess I fell in love, or came to love her. It doesn't really matter." When he turned back to Draco the light had gone out of his eyes. "But you can't change who you are, can you? In the end."

Draco was not sure he was ready to compete with this honesty but he surprised himself. "No, William, you can't." He looked down into his glass and swivelled the liquor around idly. "Believe me, I tried for a while. I'm a Malfoy, after all. The only son. _The only child_. My parents never found out." He looked up. "I never told them."

Bill nodded. "But you don't hide it now."

"The world has changed." Draco gave a crooked, reluctant grin and raised his glass in a mock toast. "Harry changed the world."

"Is that why you're friends?"

"No." Draco shook his head. He took a sip of whisky. "Potter is director of the Auror training programme and I work in International Magical Relations and Representation. Our paths crossed one too many times for us not to get to talking. Also, I was damned tired of masquerading as someone I was not." He licked his lips. "If I had any hope of restoring my reputation after the War that killed my Dark Marked parents then I might just as well go all the way and present my true self to the world."

"You think the world cares that much about you?"

Draco smirked, casting a glance around the room. "Evidently."

Bill rolled his eyes but the brush of a smile touched his face. "You know I used to have your confidence, Malfoy."

"So regain it."

"Damaged goods, remember?"

Draco slid off his seat and set his glass aside. He crossed the floor that behaved well enough and did not squeak under his feet and disturb his determination. The lengthening shadows of the encroaching night were creeping across the withering grass in his sorry excuse for a garden he'd had no time to tend to yet. The failing light made the firelight dance even brighter off Bill's auburn hair.

Bill waited for him by the window. Draco stood to face him, catching and holding his gaze. "Or bloody dangerous," he said quietly. "Or so I heard."

"What the fuck are you doing, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged.

"You looking for danger?"

But Draco shook his head. "No. I'm just showing you your options."

Bill's expression was cautious in the flickering light. His voice strained. "Why me?"

Draco shrugged. "Because you seem to need it." He glanced down. "Besides, those boots."

He was not sure if Bill was shocked, insulted or amused. Most likely, a little of everything. But he did nothing about it.

"How did you know?" Bill asked with a restless gaze that moved from Draco's eyes to his lips and back again.

"When you know what to look for it's not very difficult." Draco told him while lifting the glass out of his hands and depositing it on the windowsill. "It can be a choice of words – some particular turn of phrase. A gesture, perhaps. It's all there. _You_ looked at me as though you wanted to kill me when I didn't turn your drunken, crude suggestions down with revulsion."

"_That_turns you on?" Bill's mouth twisted into a grimace. "_That_ was what gave it away?"

Draco smiled coyly. "Apparently so. And in your case, yes."

Bill was a fraction taller. His shoulders were broader, his jaw firmer. His hair longer. Bill was simply _more_of everything. Draco had no complaints.

Still…

"You don't have to stay," he said. He was loath to let this moment slip out of his grasp but he could be considerate when the need arose. "You may leave. We forget we ever hinted at this and move on. I'll see you at Christmas, perhaps."

"Let's not talk about Christmas," Bill said, a rough note on the edge of his voice.

"Fine with me," Draco agreed. "I do not mind your family overly much but more than twenty-four hours in the same house –"

"Problems with my family, Malfoy?"

"Draco." Leaning forwards, he breathed in Bill's husky scent (still no objections) and allowed for their chests to lightly press together. "Call me Draco," he whispered, before he brushed his lips to the corner of Bill's mouth.

When that elicited no more reaction than a tiny intake of breath on Bill's part, Draco moved his lips to his ear and exhaled softly. "I confess. I want you."

The growl in Bill's throat made his blood sizzle. Bill turned his head enough to catch Draco's wayward mouth with his own. But the kiss that followed was shallow and cowardly. Draco pulled back with narrowed eyes.

"I don't believe you, William. For a man that's supposedly bedded a ton of other men at some point in his life you don't impress."

He did see the warring emotions in Bill's eyes but this was not the hour of compassion. "I'd rather you not pretend." He drew back. "After all, just because we have declared that we both fancy men it doesn't mean we absolutely must be attracted to one another." He took another step back and smoothed down his navy blue shirt (organic cotton, for weekdays. It was a Muggle trend Draco had picked up on but would never admit to). "As I said, we forget and move on."

"No." Bill's hand was on his arm. "Stop."

Draco arched an eyebrow at him. "I thought I just did."

"You don't get it." A remnant of growl was in Bill's voice. "You just don't get it!"

"Apparently not." Draco moved around the couch and dropped down onto it. "And apparently you are very reluctant to explain."

"There's nothing _to_ explain! It's all bloody clear." Bill snorted in contempt, and something ignited in his eyes. "It's not about… about… _this!_It's not about sex, Malfoy. About me finding myself again or some other bullshit. It's about me telling _my_ _wife_that I no longer fancy her because somehow I've got over that infatuation and now I'm back at openly ogling blokes on the street, wondering if any one of them would ever shag me and what kind of person does that make me?!" His voice was building an earthquake and sparks of a rage such as Draco had never seen in a Weasley (not even Ronald on his worst Hogwarts behaviour) were reaching out to him on the couch and making the hairs on his neck stand on end.

"What the _fuck_do I tell my daughter?" Bill hissed, his hands uselessly fisting at his sides. "How do I know that Fleur just won't take Victoire and leave for France and _how the hell do I know that I will see her again_?!"

Draco suddenly felt cold. Bill's eyes were flashing and it was only imagination – it had to be – but his lips seemed to draw back and show unnaturally visible teeth.

"Do you think I care about my own needs when my own mother is crying herself to sleep every bloody night since she found out Fleur and I split up and why?" He rounded on Draco, the floor keeping deadly silent under his weight as he closed the distance between them. "And here you are, Malfoy, playing your game, collecting your creepy treasures from all around the world and being free and careless and able to fuck whomever comes in your way because _it doesn't matter_!"

Draco swallowed. He tried to keep his breathing steady and even but the pulsating energy around Bill was wrapping around his lungs and threatening to choke him. "It doesn't…" he swallowed a second time. "We don't have to…"

"You think I don't want to?" Bill snarled, eyes like blazing bonfires. "You think I don't want to fuck you?!"

Ah.

Draco steeled himself. Gathered his courage. With a bit of luck, some of Harry's tedious and infamous Gryffindor courage had rubbed off on him. (Which, for the record, was not something Draco usually wished for since Potter suffered from a distinct lack of anything that was remotely refined.)

Draco stood. Bill's breathing was harsh in his face, firelight inflaming his whole being. Draco had done many stupid things in his life but this was likely to be one of the least intelligent. Before he had a chance to change his mind and run for cover he placed his palm on Bill's crotch.

He gave a small squeeze and Bill's answering groan rang through Draco's very bones. He was not sure he wanted Bill inside him when he was like this, though. So he squeezed again and started rubbing the denim, harder than most men liked but William Weasley was not like most other men, Draco was quite sure.

Bill was breathing through his mouth, violent breaths that scorched Draco's lips. Still he persisted. And he felt it. He felt the response from Bill's body, felt the hardening of his cock that rose to meet his touch. Well, at least _Draco_ was not out of practice.

"Don't think," he whispered before he dropped to his knees and exchanged his hand for his cheek.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Bill's voice was a raspy rush of air.

Draco looked up at him and plastered a smirk over his apprehension. "You may mess up my hair." Then he proceeded.

He rubbed his cheek against the denim, cupped Bill's arse and positively inhaled his arousal. The response was formidable. Bill's hands were in his hair not two seconds later and his roar told Draco everything he needed to know about pent-up desires and excruciating longing.

He tore at Bill's fly, forcing it open and now there was only one barrier left. Black cotton collided with Draco's cheek and lips and he mouthed his way along Bill's dick as it twitched in its confinement. He was too eager to see this through to bother with his own needs. If it ever came to taking care of that – however _this_ended – at least Draco had quickly built a new storage of fantasies to toss to for a foreseeable future. Resolutely he pushed the jeans further down Bill's legs and distantly noted the muscles in his thighs. Bill's hands cupped the back of his head and pressed him closer still to his groin.

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

Draco grinned to himself as he fingered the waistband of Bill's briefs, eyes closed and head spinning. He tugged them down and Bill's cock sprang free to meet his mouth.

The groan that greeted him as he swallowed as much of Bill's length as he could muster on a first go made his own cock jerk. But he had neither time nor courage to spare and instead set to work sucking Bill off with all of the tricks and twists he had ever learnt. Bill's hard length filled his mouth until he thought he might choke but he managed to stay in control. The first salty tang was soon wiped away and Draco's breathing came under control. When he used one of his hands to fondle Bill's sacs a rain of foul words floated down to him and Draco counted himself as a victor.

"Fuck, Draco…" Bill's hands pulled at his hair. "I need to…" A couple of shoves of his hips brutally sent Draco out of his rhythm and forced him backwards on the floor until the Parisian couch was at his back. Grabbing it for purchase, Bill loomed over him and forced Draco to angle his head upwards to be able to continue sucking him.

Held immobile as he was between the couch and Bill's legs, Draco could have protested but this was really not the occasion. He took hold of Bill's dick and guided it once more to his mouth and closed his eyes. He felt like twenty again with that thick cock pounding against the roof of his mouth.

When he came, Bill's roar could have woken a giant. His fingers were knotted in Draco's hair so hard his scalp stung and his cock was buried so deep in Draco's mouth that the latter gagged. But it was worth it. Draco swallowed and swallowed and thought he might leave bruises on Bill's arse the way he gripped it.

Bill was panting as he withdrew, sliding his still twitching cock from Draco's lips. But his eyes were burning. "Up. Get up on the sofa."

Draco, head spinning and jaw aching, tried his best to comply. He scrambled onto the couch so awkwardly he should have been mortified but he had no time to reflect upon that before Bill's hands descended on his trousers and ripped them open. (This was neither the occasion to lament the fine tailored cut and recall the price tag that had accompanied the trousers on the rack in the shop in Oslo.)

Bill had no compassion for underwear either but that seemed like a non-issue when his firm hands found Draco's cock and gave a stroke so urgent that Draco arched towards the ceiling with a keening moan of the kind he had never heard himself utter before. Bill dropped to his knees and Draco screwed his eyes shut as another stroke set him on fire.

"You're the… sexiest… bloody bastard I've ever seen." Bill's voice was so rough and breathless all Draco could do was to whip his hips upwards into Bill's hands again. "Someday I'll fuck you until you're begging."

It was beneath him (so, so, _so_beneath him) but Draco would have been begging now if he had not been so occupied with staying alive. Bill's warm and calloused hands moved all over, rolled his balls, twisted the head of his dick, squeezed the base so hard it almost hurt and made Draco want to scream. When he finally climaxed his shirt was completely ruined but Bill's hungry mouth on his was everything that mattered.

**-OOO-**

"So what about the lamp?"

Draco followed Bill's gaze upwards. "That's a completely standard chandelier."

"Yeah, but who gave it to you?"

"What do you mean 'gave it to me'?"

Bill turned his face to Draco. The firelight illuminated his scar and made Draco want to touch it. He refrained, however, as one short tryst – however spectacular – in a drawing room on a Parisian couch did not entitle him to such intimacy. "I mean, who gave it to you?"

"I bought it myself."

Bill's eyebrows shot upwards. "You bought _that_?"

"I did. As I said it's a wholly normal chandelier."

"Whatever."

Bill dropped his head back on the yellow silk and closed his eyes. He was seated on the floor, fully dressed once more. Draco had stayed on the couch. He could think of very little to say that seemed like it needed to be said.

In the end, it was Bill who broke the silence once more. "So… I guess I should be off."

Draco examined his fingernails. "Will you be OK?"

"Do you care?"

Draco pushed himself upright. "Would it surprise you if I did?"

"I don't know." Bill stirred, eyes again seeking Draco's. "I don't know you. Last I saw you… I don't remember when, honestly, but you weren't a friend of the family, then. You were a Malfoy."

"I'm still a Malfoy," Draco said, quietly. Despite everything he had been through in his life his surname had never felt more like a stain.

Bill rubbed a hand over his face. "A new form of Malfoy."

There appeared to be nothing else to say after that so Draco followed Bill to the door.

They lingered a moment on the stone steps in the bluish evening until Bill gave a sort of nod and produced his wand. He Disapparated without another word.

Draco went inside and closed the door behind him. He stood for a while in the silent hallway.

He really should take a bath.

Tomorrow was Tuesday.

**-OOO-**

**End of Part One**


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

**In which Christmas has arrived and there are lots of feelings. And Harry is evil.**

"Oh, Draco dear, would you be a darling and find a spot for those?"

Mrs Weasley, up to her elbows in flour (maybe that was supposed to be flour up to her elbows but to Draco the difference was not immediate) nodded encouragingly at the small glass plate of truffles set aside on top of a stack of magazines in a corner of the kitchen that was complete chaos.

"The children made them yesterday," she beamed at him, no doubt without a thought for the very wide range of suspicious substances that might have gone into the making of the truffles if James was in any way involved.

"Lovely," Draco remarked as he picked up the truffles and headed out of the kitchen, carefully avoiding the silvery garland hanging low inside the doorway. The time he had been unfortunate enough to bump into it, a freezing cold snowfall had blocked out his vision and made him yelp in surprise. Though that had been enough to make the kids writhe on the floor with laughter it had apparently disappointed George enough to turn up the magic a notch or two. Now, if you touched the garland, the blizzard would follow you for a full five minutes, raining snow down upon you until your teeth clattered.

He found Harry in the drawing room, sorting through a veritable mountain of Christmas decorations.

Draco placed the truffles on the coffee table and dropped down in a conveniently placed armchair. "Eat." He gestured at the truffles. "Your little goblin flock made them."

Harry pushed back his fringe and frowned. "My kids? Made these?" He leaned over the glass plate and peered suspiciously down at its content.

Draco shrugged. "I don't know which ones exactly. Could have been Rose and Hugo just as well."

With a doubtful last look at the truffles Harry went back to his sparkling, in places singing and chatting, mound of baubles, reindeers, angels, garlands, stars and whatever he had found in some storage somewhere. "So… you, um, won't be bringing anyone… tomorrow?" There was a red streak high on his cheeks.

"Potter, are you seriously asking me if I will be bringing a _special someone _to Christmas dinner?"

Harry fiddled with a small metal snowman whose carrot nose had disappeared somewhere in the mess and who looked quite pitiful at the discovery. "Sorry," he said. "It's just... I thought that bloke you were seeing might…"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "If you are referring to Rupert in Magical Transportation we spent two nights together engaging in unmentionable indiscretion until he remembered that he has a fiancé in Dover."

"Oh." Harry bit his lip. "I see." He glanced up. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry," Draco waved a hand at him dismissively. "I've had better."

It was unadulterated joy to see Harry blush so fiercely. Draco could not help but laugh. "For Merlin's sake, you have three kids. You and Ginevra must have done the deed at least thrice."

"Of course we have," Harry muttered. "And you know I don't think that your preferences are odd. It's just that I don't… It's not like I think about what my friends do in bed, you know."

"Oh, to be sure!" Draco agreed emphatically. "If it helps, believe me when I say that I never once in my life imagined you in bed with your wife, not even when I was bored out of my wits."

Harry made a face but then smiled. "All right. You're welcome all on your own tomorrow."

"I thought I was supposed to spend the night? Two nights, in fact."

"We didn't think you wanted to?" Harry lifted aside a heap of charmed garlands of evergreens that theoretically were supposed to be ever green but were more a dusty grey. "It's OK if you want to go home tonight and come back tomorrow. Today's only about getting everything ready for tomorrow anyway. Ron and Hermione will go home later as well. And come back tomorrow around lunchtime." He lowered his voice a little. "I know Molly can be a little difficult but she'll understand. Besides she's rather busy trying to think of a way to handle Bill tonight and at dinner tomorrow without upsetting him."

Something in Draco's stomach fell over. "Bill?"

"Yeah…" Harry shot a glance of warning at a glass star that had begun drifting upwards from the pile. "Fleur and Victoire have gone to France for the holidays to visit with her parents. It's been a bit of a debate according to Ginny but it seems that Bill and Fleur have finally settled on a custody plan. Apparently Fleur got Christmas."

Draco schooled his features carefully into something that hopefully resembled indifferent neutrality. "I see. And Bill is coming here tonight?"

"That's what Molly says."

"I see," Draco repeated, firmly quenching the nervous thrill that sped through him. Satisfied with his self-control he smiled amiably. "Now you had best get on with your work, Harry. Because what you have accomplished so far with this heap of clutter is only to cause a severe depression to a seven-inch snowman."

**-OOO-**

They were everywhere. You took one step to your left and there was Albus tugging at your [Italian] shirt sleeve, begging you to come and play. You went in search of something stronger than tea and there were Rose and Lily with their heads together, whispering and giggling as they cast furtive glances at you. When half of the clan left around five o' clock it was nothing short of a blessing.

Draco had just settled in the drawing room with a thumbed copy of the _Evening_ _Prophet _when the doorbell rang. He briefly closed his eyes and wished it had not since it sent the remaining munchkins tumbling for the door and the Christmas tree, never late to share in the clamour, began hollering the first notes of _Oh Holy Night_, which according to Hermione was a perfectly respectable Christmas carol and Draco should not judge it on the basis of it being a Muggle tune. (She did not know about organic cotton.)

Despite his efforts at denying every sound of family merry-making, muffled voices and cheers and calls stubbornly drifted into the drawing room. Draco stuck resolutely to his spot on the sofa. It was only when the kids began pouring into the drawing room that he looked up. And very, very nearly lost a heartbeat.

"I helped to decorate it!" Albus was pointing up at the Christmas tree, now in the first stages of the second verse.

"Did not," James immediately countered. "_You _dropped that glass angel so that dad had to _Reparo _it!" He brandished an invisible wand in the direction of the tree.

"Only because you pushed me!"

"I'm sure you both did a great job," Bill broke in. "It's brilliant." He ruffled Albus' ink-black hair fondly and winked down at him. "You don't want to know how many decorations I broke when I was your age."

"Really?" It came out breathlessly.

Draco was feeling quite breathless himself watching Bill from across the room. The colour in his face was healthier and his eyes clearer. He was just as tall and handsome as he had been in November but there was something new about him. Something carefree that made Draco's mouth positively water. His smile was addictive as he hoisted the youngest Potter up in his arms. "And you, Lily," he pressed a kiss to her cheek, "did you break anything?"

Her small fingers curled in his ponytail as she giggled something that Draco did not catch.

"Well, _I_ didn't break a single thing," James boasted, puffing out his small chest. "Isn't that right Uncle Draco?"

Four pairs of eyes were suddenly on him. Draco made a point of slowly laying aside the newspaper and stretching out his legs before him. "Quite right," he agreed. "And if you had, I'd have blamed your father for not keeping a watchful eye on you."

Albus and James grinned. Bill, however, fixed his gaze so firmly on Draco that it was almost a physical sensation. "Hello Draco. How are you?"

"Oh, same as ever. Famed and celebrated."

"Of course."

Even with one of the urchins in his arms and the other two in orbit around him Bill managed to look striking. He dropped another kiss to Lily's cheek and then set her down. "All right, off you go, the lot of you!"

Draco barely noticed when the children ran off in pursuit of new adventures. Bill was closing the distance between them and Draco found it hard to concentrate on anything but the way his faded black jeans hugged his thighs and his t-shirt sat across his chest. Not to mention this new glimmer in his eyes.

"I owe you another apology," said Bill as he came to stand in front on Draco. "For not staying in touch."

Draco pushed past the sudden difficulty to breathe properly. This was not like him and it was both upsetting and invigorating. At least to a certain degree. He was not sure that 'invigorated' was a good look on him. "You had a difficult time."

"Yes," Bill agreed. "Still. I've been thinking about you."

Well, Draco was not some lovesick kid who would ask 'have you?' and make a fool of himself. Instead he waited patiently for Bill to elaborate.

Which he did, but in rather unsatisfactory terms. "Yeah, and about that casket of yours. I have some Egyptian friends and I'm sure one of them wouldn't mind taking a closer look at it."

"Lovely," said Draco, for the second time that day. Without meaning it at all. For the second time that day.

–**OOO–**

The house was dark and quiet as Draco slipped out of the bathroom and padded across the landing to his bedroom. He was almost over the threshold when the floor behind him creaked and made him jump.

"Draco?" Bill was in his own doorway, framed against the light that spilled out into the hallway.

"Fuck, Weasley!" Draco's heart hammered in his breast. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Nerves, Malfoy?" Bill shot back at him with a smirk.

Draco scoffed and tried his best to arrange his features into something more representable (even if it was in the middle of the night and the lighting was poor). "With your deranged brothers and Harry's wild kids on the loose my own personal security has become my priority. Besides, I thought you were asleep."

Bill's smirk turned distinctly pleased. "You've been thinking about me?"

_Yes_.

Draco raised his chin. "No."

"Well, I've been thinking about you."

"So you said."

"In other ways too."

_Well, well…_

Draco did not mind that at all. Even so, it did not do to come off as eager. "Have you indeed?"

"Yes." Bill leaned against the doorframe. He was wearing yet another one of his faded, one-size-too-small t-shirts… and jogging trousers that hung seductively low on his hips. He crossed his strong arms over his chest. "Oh, yes. Long and hard… Draco."

Draco's mouth went quite dry. He tore his gaze from Bill's biceps (the lack of proper lighting really did them no favours anyway) and glued it to his face instead. And sneered. "That's the most wretched innuendo, Weasley."

"Ah, but you did recognise it as an innuendo."

Oh, Draco's cock certainly had. Admitting to that, however, was certainly a direct path to death by humiliation. "Listen," Draco said instead, striving for bored and tired, "if you have a piece, by all means, out with it and then we both can catch some sleep. The sooner the better."

Bill eased himself off the doorway and his voice dropped a notch. Suddenly he was all urgency and transparency. "Come here, Malfoy."

Draco held out for a moment: one gloriously staunch moment he would have been very proud of had not his resolve caved in before he'd even had the time to congratulate himself on his steadfastness. There was a need in Bill's voice that just got to him. Still, he was not one to go down without a last effort. Therefore, he smirked. "Well, I can't have you begging. It doesn't suit you."

Bill's mouth was warm and wet. Draco drove his tongue inside and earned himself a soft moan in response. They backed inside the bedroom blindly until Draco could shove the door shut behind him. He slid his tongue alongside Bill's and felt himself melting into the older man. Bill's trousers were washed-out and ancient and so utterly out of fashion it was ridiculous but they were more forgiving than denim and that earned them a mark of appreciation in Draco's records.

Draco settled his hands on Bill's arse and pressed their hips together. His mind was clouding over with every swipe of Bill's tongue against his, every nibble of his teeth and every stroke of Bill's broad palms over his back. When they finally drew apart for air Draco's blood was sizzling.

If he had thought there would be excessive amounts of talking he was wrong. Bill immediately dove for his neck and left open-mouthed kisses in a string from his earlobe to his collarbone. Draco's sigh of pleasure was so deep that it felt as though it came from the soles of his feet. Hands found their way underneath his own t-shirt and rubbed at his skin. He gave back as good as he got, exhaling against Bill's ear and trying an experimental lick. The shudder that was his reward made him smile.

"Softening up for me, William?"

Teeth rasped against his throat as Bill circled his hips. "Not bloody likely." And, true enough, there was proof.

Draco wove his hands into Bill's long hair and tugged his head back. "What's this about?"

"What d'you mean?"

In the small Burrow bedroom it somehow felt different. Draco squinted, heard his own breathing. "I don't mind a casual shag now and then but we're in your parents' house and I'm their guest."

Bill turned his head, pressing his lips to Draco's wrist. "Worried about your reputation, Draco?"

"Always."

With a sigh, Bill broke away. "You're right." He sounded more thoughtful than defeated, though, and that was encouraging. "I never thought I would say this but you are right, Malfoy."

"Contrary to what you seem to think I am known to be in possession of a respectable amount of intelligence," Draco informed him sourly.

"You were right the first time, in roundabout sort of way," Bill continued without any heed for his remark. "I did need to find myself again. I did need to rediscover certain… well…"

"Have a heart, William. Spare me the details of how many blokes you've shagged since we last met."

He thought he heard a snigger. And suddenly Bill was close to him again, standing just in front of him. Blue eyes flashed in the light of the fire and hinted at some power in him that made Draco's knees weaken. "No, but you do need to know. At least that I did explore a little." His hands were suddenly on Draco's hips. "But all I could think of was you."

"Really?" said Draco, doing his best to pour all of his indifference into that one word. His heart, however, was far from unaffected if the sudden jolt that shook it was anything to go by.

Bill dragged his palms up Draco's arms. "Really."

"Why me?"

Bill's low laughter wound around him like a duvet. A duvet with claws and canines, that was. "Because you stand up against me. Because you challenge me." He rubbed his cheek against Draco's.

"You hardly know me."

"I'd like to get to know you better."

Draco shuddered as curious fingertips ran down his sides, teasing the skin just beneath his t-shirt. "You know," he admitted, "I was supposed to be the one seducing you."

"Disappointed?" Bill's smile was audible in his voice.

"A little put off," Draco allowed.

"Don't be." Bill's breath was warm on his ear. "Seduce me into bed." Then his voice sank to a whisper. "And fuck me."

Draco's eyes widened but he kept his reaction in check otherwise. "Now here I thought you were the commanding top, Weasley."

"And what are you, _Malfoy_?"

It was true that Draco most often ended up on the receiving end. And to be clear, that was not at all to his displeasure. Truth be told, the idea of topping Bill even made him slightly uneasy.

"How much werewolf are you, _William_?"

Bill's hands were back on his hips now, burning and greedy. "I _can_turn," he said, with a rasp of something feral in his voice. "But it's extremely taxing and painful. Full moons make me restless, or angry, or extremely happy or nervous or excited. Feelings intensify, in general."

He dragged his lips over Draco's cheek. "I sense more. I hear more. I know a part of you is frightened." Briefly joining their mouths together and smiling into that kiss he went on, "I know you're upholding a façade. But I also know that parts of your attitude make up your personality." His tongue swiped across Draco's lower lip and made the younger man shiver. Bill's voice sank to a rough whisper. "I can hear your heart."

So Draco kissed him properly. The way he figured was that if Bill could read that much from him by simply being near him it was no point in pretending. Bill opened up to him immediately, letting him inside, allowing him every taste, every lick and every nibble that he fancied. Draco traced his shoulders, his shoulder blades, his waist, with his hands, mapping all the plains of Bill's body he could reach.

"I can feel your need," he whispered into Bill's ear. "You need this."

Bill shuddered into his palms. He bowed his head and with his tongue tip teased Draco's pulse point. "Give all that you have, Draco."

He never did that. Sure, he could engage but he never lost himself to it. That was giving up control and Draco never gave up control – even nowadays.

But one more kiss and he felt himself melting against Bill's chest. One more exhale against his cheek and Draco's senses began playing amongst themselves with no compassion for his mind.

He tugged Bill even closer and encountered no opposition as he walked them in direction of the bed. The old bedroom was not big to begin with so the task was not particularly overwhelming. It was a good start, Draco decided in his own favour.

They landed on the bed, Bill under him and with his eyes on Draco's face. By unspoken agreement they found their places higher up on the bed, Bill on his back and Draco looming over him.

"_Vanish_ our clothes?" Bill suggested even as he drew Draco down on top of him and pressed him into his body.

Draco could not entirely swallow his moan as their groins came together. "Can't. Wand's in my room."

"Use mine." Bill was nuzzling his neck, his warm breath wafted over Draco's skin.

"That's hardly safe." Draco forced himself to pull away. "If you're so eager, do it yourself."

"Mind your attitude, Draco…"

"And that's coming from you."

Bill's entire upper body was glorious. He might be old[er] but by Merlin was he sexy. And contemplating that gave him the idea. Before Bill could object Draco pushed himself up and straddled him properly. Bending forwards _just so_ had his swelling cock rubbing against Bill's. The werewolf growled and Draco ripped his shirt open.

It took almost no effort at all since the shirt was bloody antique (and not in the good way) and it gave a satisfying sound as it parted down the middle of Bill's chest.

Bill went for him. In his apparent naïveté Draco had thought he'd be quite safe on top like this but as the older man rolled them over and sank his teeth into his neck Draco realised he had no idea how to play this game. At all.

That should have been tremendously frightening.

Draco found it terrifically arousing.

Which probably was alarming.

He didn't care.

Bill ground into him, t-shirt in tatters and hair tangling in Draco's face. His mouth was everywhere, causing Draco's blood to scald his skin from within. Draco recklessly pushed at the remnants of their clothing: Bill's jogging trousers and briefs and his own pyjama bottoms (discreetly checked flannel) and his own underwear.

Bill's voice was hoarse in his ear. He bore down with his whole weight. "Fuck me."

Draco's mind was in chaos. His heart was pounding so frantically that he thought it might burst out of his chest. "Wand," he gasped.

"Got it." Bill's throaty chuckle wound around him as he pushed his hard dick into Draco's.

"Git," Draco managed through a moan. "Magic. Privacy charm and slicking spell."

"Want to scream, Draco?"

Yes, he did. At some point, at least. And by that he meant in an extraordinarily imminent future.

"Wand. Now. Weasley."

Bill rolled off Draco and grabbed his wand off the bedside cabinet. "Clothes first," he growled with a face stormy and hungry. Draco barely had time to swallow before he was stark naked on the bed. But he was rewarded when Bill gave himself the same treatment.

As he drank in the sight of the werewolf he barely noticed how his dick was slicked with something warm and wet and how the light shimmer of the privacy charm enveloped the room. Bill was crawling closer and the firelight crept over his skin and gleamed in his hair and Draco lost his ability to think. All he knew was that he wanted this. Wanted this man so badly he trembled.

This was like nothing he'd ever experienced. Draco was always in control. Now he lost it.

Bill's weight was heavy on him. His big cock jutted out and collided with Draco's as he straddled him. Draco bucked his hips and Bill grabbed them and forced them to stay off the bed. He had scars running down his chest, Draco registered on some level as he fought to comply with Bill's silent demand. Weasley was certainly not perfect. And yet he was _perfect_.

"How…?" Draco forced out as Bill let his hips go and caught both of their dicks in one of his hands. Then he stroked. And Draco squealed.

That did not mean that he was not still in possession of his dignity.

"Up my arse," Bill grunted. A second stroke and Draco grabbed fistfuls of linen and bit down on his lower lip.

"I need to stretch you…"

Beads of sweat were already collecting on Draco's forehead. He fought to keep his eyes open.

"Fixed that too."

"You're taking the all the fun out o…" Draco groaned as Bill gave a new stroke, twisting the heads of their cocks together.

"Next time." Bill's thumb slid across the slit atop Draco's cock and then released him. "Get up."

Draco struggled to sit. His cock was aching and his balls were tightening. Too soon, he knew, but as Bill got onto his hands and knees beside him and shoved his arse in Draco's direction he really could not be blamed. So he slammed into him. And Bill howled.

Draco buried himself so deep it almost made him cry. It was maddeningly hot and tight and so, so addictive. He pulled back and thrust deep again. Bill hung his head while his muscles corded along his back. Choking on a breath, Draco repeated the action. His hands found purchase on Bill's hips and he gave all that he had. When he was steady enough he reached for Bill's jerking cock and tried to stroke him in time with his thrusts.

"Fuck, Draco…" Bill's voice was ragged against the sheets. "Don't stop."

Draco would indeed have preferred to last forever but he was only human after all (which was lamentable but undeniably true). "Trying not to…" he ground out behind clenched teeth. "Can't promise… though…."

His hand was sticky with Bill's precome and fire was flaring up and down his spine. Bill's body swallowed him up and Draco plastered himself along his broad back. They fell to the bed like that and Draco rutted against Bill shamelessly. Bill's breathing came in ragged gasps and Draco's was all but gone. His hand was trapped under their joined bodies but it didn't matter. Bill's inner muscles clenched and that was when Draco screamed.

And came.

His only salvation was that Bill did so too.

The climax was a blazing mess of frantic thrusting and sweat-soaked skin and noises Draco only recognised as savage.

It was the best he'd ever had.

–**OOO–**

When Draco came back to the bed Bill had straightened the sheets and was sitting cross-legged near the headboard. He was wearing a clean set of briefs. Draco was fully dressed in his t-shirt and pyjama bottoms.

Bill's hair fell down his back and there was some colour on his cheeks. Still he sounded impersonal enough when he asked "All cleaned up?"

"Water feels more genuine than magic," Draco admitted.

Bills smiled. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you prefer the Muggle way."

Draco bit back a sarcastic comment. Somehow it did not feel appropriate. He stopped near the foot of the bed and found that he had no idea what to say. Sure, Weasley was hot as hell but that was not why he felt a desire to touch him. There was – if he were to be completely honest with himself – a tug at his heart when he looked at Bill – even post-carnal activities. And that was something Draco Malfoy had not felt for _years_.

Which, of course, did not help in the slightest.

"So." He cleared his throat. "Thanks for the shag, Weasley."

For one (surprisingly) painful moment he thought Bill would answer him in that same indifferent fashion but then something stole across his face and the older man's gaze grew searching. "Stay, Draco."

"I am staying, you git. Across the hall."

But Bill brushed it aside. "You know what I mean. Here. In my bed."

"In your bed or…" he could have bitten his tongue off.

A small smile curved Bill's mouth beautifully. "Stay with me."

"Fine," Draco sighed. "If you're that desperate for comfort."

When the room was dark at last Bill wrapped his arms around Draco. It felt good. When Weasley pressed a kiss into his temple that felt good too. So Draco did what was expected of him and returned the gesture. Then he kissed Weasley on the lips. Chastely. As if there were something more to this most unorthodox relationship than sex.

Which was a preposterous thought.

But rather appealing.

To tell the truth.

–**OOO–**

Christmas morning was well underway when they finally made it out of bed. Not that anything more indecent had happened but it had turned out that Bill's broad chest and strong shoulder were quite comfortable to rest one's head on and while Draco was at it he discovered that once they got to talking properly Weasley was both rather intelligent and well-read.

Then there was that bit of business of parting at the door because Draco had to wash (yes, again) and have a change of clothes but Weasley's hands were cupping his cheek and back of his head and the kisses were very soft and sweet and Draco's hands had found a home in the small of his back.

Bill smelled of sex and sleep and Draco inhaled him as he pressed their chests together and turned his face into his neck. Fingertips slowly swept over his back in invisible patterns that covered Draco's skin in goose bumps. He closed his eyes and simply stood there, refusing to think about anything else than their breathing and the way Bill's heart beat next to his own.

"So…" Bill's voice was slightly hesitant. "Do you, um, want to wait and… I mean this…"

Draco lifted his head off his shoulder. Bill's eyes were blue as the sky outside. Or would have been, if it had not begun snowing around nine o' clock which now meant that the sky was a whitish-grey. In any case, they were blue. And a trifle wide and searching. "What is _this_, William?" He had meant to sound more casual than he did.

Bill cupped his cheek again and cautiously drew the pad of his thumb over his lower lip. "Why don't you tell me, Draco?"

Draco found it was impossible to look away. "I don't know."

"What if I said that I fancy you?"

He'd be damned if a Weasley proved braver than a Malfoy.

"I'd take it as a compliment." He wound his fingers into Bill's hair and considered again the fine lines around his eyes and the shimmer of silver near his temples. "And I guess it's no more than fair, then, to say that I fancy you as well."

Bill cocked an eyebrow. "I haven't said it yet. I only presented a hypothetical scenario."

Draco shrugged. "Then I shall be the bigger person who eases your suffering and says it first."

"How very considerate of you," Bill grinned.

"I know," Draco agreed. "Still, perhaps we might keep silent about for a while. Christmas is not done yet and I'd rather not your mother kicked me out before I got to taste the turkey I actually helped to prepare."

Bill's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You helped her?"

"I did. Why so full of doubts, William?"

"You don't strike me as the cooking type is all. I thought you had house-elves?"

"Of course I do," Draco assured him. "Anything else would be inappropriate. I am a Malfoy, remember?"

"It's bloody hard to forget most of the time."

Draco slapped him across the arse for that. Then he leaned in for a new kiss.

When it was over Bill stroked his fingers down Draco's cheek. "I'll let you go and wash and pretty yourself and whatever else you find you need to do before you deem yourself presentable."

"Why, thank you, good sir," Draco said with mock sarcasm. It was hard to pretend to be upset when Bill looked at him _like that_. Not that he was particularly proud of this new inability of his to retain his self-possession but what was he to do?

He was halfway out the door when Bill's question briefly stopped him. "How did you help mum with the turkey anyway?"

Draco shot one of his sweetest smiles over his shoulder. "I turned on the oven."

–**OOO–**

He could hear them in the kitchen: Mr and Mrs Weasley, Harry and Ginny. The others would be arriving shortly, he suspected. And that meant more urchins underfoot and not a quiet moment to be enjoyed for the rest of the day.

Draco adjusted the collar of his shirt. He had thrown a blurring charm over his skin where Bill's mouth had left more-than-obvious marks last night but he still felt a little awkward about it. The truth was that Draco really did mind what the Weasleys thought of him. Yes, they were a crazy lot but they were also generous and kind-hearted and they had accepted his friendship with Harry with more grace and open-mindedness than Draco deserved.

He descended the stairs slowly. He should have left Bill in his bed much earlier. Surely it was ill-mannered to sleep in for so long when you were a guest in somebody else's house? He could not really say. Draco Malfoy had never before been a welcome overnight guest in anybody's house – the random casual shag excepted.

He berated himself for this as he slid down the last steps and the wooden floor creaked under his feet. He had hoped for an unnoticed return to the world of the living but that was not to be. At the sound of his descent a head popped out of the kitchen and a wide grin met him.

For an almost forty-year-old man Bill looked disturbingly immature when he grinned like that. The worst part of it all was the effect it had on Draco. Instead of a healthy and appropriate thud his next heartbeat more resembled a tingle.

Which of course was pathetic, that too.

Bill said something over his shoulder that Draco did not catch and then he was in the passageway coming closer and closer. They met at the bottom of the stairs, Bill with that silly grin still in place and Draco with an inhale that was not half as deep and fortifying as he would have preferred. He guessed he at least should be grateful for the fact that Bill was wearing a respectable shirt instead of one of those t-shirts with a band logo or whatnot on it. One of those t-shirts that hugged his chest and showed off his…

_Enough._

"You haven't told them, Weasley?" he hissed, casting a glance towards the kitchen.

"You took entirely too long." Bill's arm was around his waist, urging him close.

Draco took a step backwards, one as big as he could manage with the steps remaining just behind him. "Stop it."

"I missed you." Bill's eyes glittered unsettlingly. "Merry Christmas, by the way." The warmth that radiated off him seeped through Draco's lambswool pullover and heated his skin.

"You remember that it's Christmas _now_?" Draco snorted, doing his utmost to not fall for any charms.

"We were busy earlier," Bill smirked. His other hand found Draco's chin and angled it upwards. "You look delicious."

"_Weasley! _Stop it or I'll have to hex you."

"Mmm…"

Bill's lips ghosted over his and Draco's determination wavered. Involuntarily his eyes drifted closed and he found himself angling his head just a fraction.

Then he sobered. "William. You haven't told them, have you?"

The older man drew back a little but he looked more amused than annoyed. "No, I haven't. I agree with you. We figure this out first, between us."

"Good." Draco nodded. "Now I shall go and make my apologies to your mother for sleeping in."

"Yeah…" Bill's hold on him tightened. "In a moment."

The kiss was slow. Draco felt his feet dissolve into the floor and his mind cloud over. Bill's tongue against his was undemanding. It felt natural, somehow, which was very odd considering he was a Weasley but Draco stopped caring then and there. He wound his arms around Bill's waist and moulded himself against his lean frame. Bill's hands messed up his hair. In his dazed state Draco decided boldly that he did not care about that either. He never could decide on the perfect cut anyway. He nibbled on Bill's lower lip and felt something warm swoop through him as hands pressed him even closer.

It might not be what Draco had envisioned for himself only a few months earlier but by Merlin was it good!

Then Albus' devastatingly high-pitched gnome voice broke through the air and plummeted him into a sea of ice-cold water:

"Uncle Bill! When are… Mummy! Daddy! Uncle Bill and Uncle Draco are kissing!"

The only unnervingly clear thing Draco could remember afterwards, when the ensuing commotion had died down, was Harry producing an uncharacteristic, positively evil, smirk and saying that Draco should simply have come out and said it: that he was not technically _bringing _someone special to Christmas dinner but that they would meet the bloke anyway – since he was already invited.

It had not mattered how many times Draco had threatened to curse him, Potter – that bloody bastard – had only continued to smirk.

–**OOO–**

In consideration of the copious amount of talk that the episode caused it could have been regarded as a personal insult to the parties involved that the _affaire_ only merited a small notice in the Society section of the _Evening Prophet_. It was almost enough for Draco to set down his wine, push back his chair, cross his kitchen floor to open the window and call for Remington and send him over to the Potters with an enraged message. Almost.

It was not the fact that he dreaded crossing the floor (nobody on this Earth should be deprived of the pleasure to set foot on Draco's high polished mahogany kitchen floor) or even abandoning his wine for a moment (though this was a particularly fine vintage that old Slughorn had… well, that had come into the possession of old Slughorn who generously had allowed Draco to sample it). No, rather it was the fact that Draco did not much care to _Accio_ quill and parchment and actually compose the bloody letter. It was Tuesday and it was his night off.

Draco did not do drama on Tuesdays.

More specifically, Draco did not do Potters or Weasleys or owls or howlers or singularly extraordinary silly things like compassion and devotion or commitment on Tuesdays.

So therefore it was that he topped up his glass of wine and turned the page of his newspaper even as the whole thing continued to bug him.

Surely the news of Draco Malfoy's romantic entanglement with a newly divorced William Weasley was worthy of a longer article? It was not every day that the Ministry's Head of (promotion was a bliss) International Magical Relations and Representation was seen with a steady partner on his arm. Feeling just a little too vexed, Draco shoved aside the newspaper.

The renovations were moving along according to plan and soon his gifts from his various magical contacts from around the globe could be rearranged downstairs and the rest of the house restored to order. It was no Malfoy Manor to be sure but Draco had never once regretted selling that house and buying this one instead, despite Pansy's horror. But she had not been there when the Death Eaters took over. When Voldemort's cruel magic infested every corner and drenched the marble in fear.

Draco shuddered, suddenly chilled to the bone. Maybe that was why he took all those insane artefacts back to his house instead of making gifts of them to some museum, or even to the Ministry? Because they would never have come over the forbidding pure-blood threshold of Malfoy Manor, no matter their value. Because the children – the little monsters – really did love to play among them?

Draco wondered if Victoire would. If he ever met her. Bill had mentioned in passing one day, so obviously attempting to sound casual about it, that maybe it was time for Draco and his daughter to meet. Draco had no idea what he would say to her if that moment ever came to pass. If she was anything like Lily or Rose, he would have no clue how to decipher her giggles. Giggling had never had a place in the Malfoy family home.

A roar from outside jolted him from his musings and almost made him gasp. Grabbing his wand, he made his way to his front door. It was late and the cold winter night further chilled him as he pushed the door open a couple of inches. There on the gravel the Muggle monstrosity gleamed in the meagre light that spilled from Draco's windows. He groaned.

"It's a fucking Tuesday, Weasley!"

Bill lifted off his helmet and shook out his long hair. There was no apology in the way he swung off the motorbike and grinned up at Draco. "I know," he said, with a shrug. "But I haven't seen you for _days_."

Draco leaned against the heavy doorframe. "That is hardly my fault, allow me to inform you."

"I know," Bill repeated as he quickly climbed the stone steps, helmet tucked under an arm. "But it's not mine either. You know that couple had all but signed the papers and then they pulled out without warning. So we had to put the house back on the market and…"

"Are you here to talk, William?" Draco laid a hand on Bill's leather clad shoulder. "Or are you here to fuck me?"

"Both," Bill smirked. "In whichever order you prefer."

"Then I suppose you had best come in," said Draco, rolling his eyes. "Because I'm not doing it here."

Bill's smile backed him into the house. Something tight in his belly was uncoiling and he instinctively reached for the older man as soon as the door closed behind them. The leather was cool to the touch but inside it Bill was warm, as always. Draco wound his arms around his waist and buried his face in the crook of his neck.

"Draco?" There was a hefty dose of surprise in Bill's voice. "Are you all right?"

He could not really say. It seldom happened but right now something stung his eyes. Draco squeezed them shut.

Broad, warm hands landed hesitantly on his shoulders and stayed there for a breath or two. Then they began moving over his back, stroking soothingly. The chill in Draco's body gave way as Bill pressed a kiss to his temple and simply rested his cheek against it.

When Draco felt somewhat restored he pulled back a little. Bill's eyes were full of concern.

"Temporary bout of weakness," Draco informed him in a voice that was half as steady as it should have been.

Bill's fingertips trailed down his cheek. "How about we talk first?"

"About what?"

"Draco, Fleur and I sold Shell Cottage today. We thought it'd never happen what with this weather and all, but it did."

"So where will you be living now?"

The blue gaze was searching once more. "I'm not sure…"

Draco licked his lips and tried to find the words. In the end, he contented himself with narrowing his eyes at the man that made his heart beat faster in an astoundingly appalling way. "You'll be parking that hideous motorbike out of sight."

Bill's mouth curved in a smile that risked Draco's sanity. "You love it."

"I detest it."

"You think it's sexy."

"I think it's revolting."

"I don't believe you."

"You are free to believe whatever you want," said Draco, dismissively, "but you'll be wrong all the same."

"Whatever you say." Bill ran his hands down Draco's arms. "By the way, mum sends her love and orders you to dinner on Sunday night."

"Can we please not talk about your mother?"

A furrow appeared between Bill's brows. "I thought you two were getting along?"

"William, I have no issues with your mother but I repeat: it is a Tuesday and I don't do Weasleys on Tuesdays."

Something flashed in Bill's eyes at that and a dangerously seductive purr rolled over Draco. Bill's hands tightened their hold on him and he brushed their mouths together. "Oh, my darling," he murmured against Draco's lips, "I am about to prove you shockingly mistaken."

And Draco discovered he really had no issues with that either. Provided the Potters and the howlers stayed away, that was.

As for devotion and commitment… Well, even Draco Malfoy was allowed to break the rules once in a while. Especially if the rules were his own invention in the first place. And especially if they involved William Weasley in a leather jacket and dragonhide boots.

Not that he'd ever tell William Weasley that.

Well, he had mentioned the boots.

But he'd stay quiet about the leather jacket. For now.

**End**

**A/N:** Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


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